


Apologizing to Assholes is Hard

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Reconciliation-verse (or: Madara is kinda Crazy. Everyone's learning to live with it.) [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Hashirama needs to be grounded, I do that’s who, I make stupid references if you can find them, M/M, Madara's still a human trashfire, Mito might be an enabler, Past DubCon, Tobirama represses everything, because Madara IS apologizing to an asshole, listening to the voices is probably bad, memo war, minor politics, my Madara summons foxes because reasons, neither of them can people, not really sorry for it either, possible emotional whiplash, the wank of shame, treating one’s own abuse lightly, who the HELL puts a CLIFFHANGER on the end of a FIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: Madara is the worst at apologizing, especially when he knows he needs to. Tobirama isn't sure what the hell Madara's trying to do.





	1. In Which Tobirama Goes About his Day

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! Headcanon time! 
> 
> I absolutely hate that there are so few female characters who even have names in the Founding Era, much less have screen time. And it seems unlikely that two clans with so many brothers in a generation would have no sisters at all? Like, Madara had four brothers mentioned, and Hashirama had three, and Jeebus, between them they should have had at least a sister or two. So I put that down to Kishimoto hating women or something. So there will be - a sister pulled almost fully formed from another manga, and eventually! Mothers! Actual women! Who would have a major position in these guys' lives.
> 
> Other headcanon: None of the Senju sibs are full siblings. Because reasons. Not the least of which being that it amuses me and my rubber wall.
> 
> Tentatively assuming something like six chapters here, updating once a week (hopefully). Wish me luck.
> 
> Edit: Fixed the ridiculous formatting error Ao3 hit my fic with. Now it can be read without being half italics.
> 
> Edit: Screw an update schedule. I'll prob throw up chapters about twice a week. Probably. Expect Tues early AM and Sat early AM Pacific Time. Sitting on finished chapters is almost physically painful tho.

Tobirama prided himself on having an excellent poker face. Very few could read him, barring some unfortunate relations. The minute Madara was one of those few that could read him, he planned on retiring. So that morning, he drank his tea, listened and watched when Madara tried to speak - mostly incoherence, and at a completely unnecessary volume - and kept his own council on the morning’s events. 

Said events were hours ago, and Madara still couldn’t look at him without flushing vividly, which was _annoying_ during a council meeting - a relatively new necessity that Tobirama abhorred as much as he agreed that it was needed. Mostly because Madara kept glancing at him. It was probably a good thing he was mostly hidden behind all that hair, so fewer people were exposed to the display. 

While this morning had been completely unexpected, Tobirama was a bit put out that Madara was hogging all of the dramatics when he was the one who started it, continued it, and finished it. 

And it wasn’t that Tobirama was _adverse_ to sex. Even with Madara. What he was adverse to was that crawling worry - fear, though he’d likely never admit it, even to himself - he’d felt when Madara had first touched him. The knowledge that responding wrong could easily trigger one of Madara’s infamous episodes. For all it was an excellent fuck, Tobirama had mixed feelings about the whole thing. 

And now Madara was acting as though _he_ had been molested in the safety of his own home, and Tobirama was rapidly losing patience with him, because Madara was the one who had control of the situation. Admittedly, if Madara could just act like a rational adult for the rest of the meeting, Tobirama would let it go. Orgasm aside, he would rather lose the baggage. 

When it came time, Tobirama put his annoyance aside to cover his part in the infrastructure planning. The village was off to a good start, in spite of being run by an overpowered drunk. When Madara began sputtering over this, that or the other - really, it was a wonder anyone could pay attention to the bullshit that came of his mouth - Tobirama put forth the motion that Madara get tranquilized so that the meeting could finish on a peaceful note for once. 

As expected, Madara lurched out of his seat, slamming his hands onto the table and leaned across to yell right into Tobirama’s face - his earlier shame seemingly forgotten. “One would think that getting laid would have removed the stick from your ass!” 

There were other voices raising - in both amusement and chastisement - but Tobirama merely narrowed his eyes on Madara. “I get laid often enough that you should know better.” Madara’s eyes flared ridiculously wide at the rebuttal, and Tobirama smirked even as the Uchiha began sputtering again. An unintended consequence of mentioning his sex life was his peers asking questions he preferred to leave unanswered as soon as the meeting’s minutes were up. 

Hashirama, thankfully, didn’t bother with uncomfortable questions about his sex life - more because he really didn’t want to know what Tobirama got up to than anything else. Instead, after dragging Tobirama home to have dinner with him and Mito, he asked, “What did you do to him? Madara doesn’t usually flail _that_ badly...” 

Tobirama scoffed. He loved his brother dearly, but seriously. That was always the assumption. Madara’s upset with Tobirama? Well, Tobirama must have done something (new, that is, though everyone should know just what it was that Madara held against him). Tobirama suggests that Madara maybe needs some kind of anti-psychotic meds? Obviously he’s just being mean. “Why do you always assume I did something?” he asked, half exasperated, but also curious to see if this time, he would elicit a sensible response. 

“He could hardly even look at you. And he kept turning really, really...” Hashirama paused. “Wait. He said that you... Oh. Did he walk in on you? I don’t need details, but seriously, did he walk in on you with someone else?” 

That was actually a logical assumption. Tobirama could admit that to himself. It still felt like being handed the blame for something completely out of his control. “Not quite.” 

Hashirama made a choking noise. “That was more than I needed to know." 

“Then why do you always ask?” It was easy to be disgruntled, and to keep that face up. He didn’t particularly want to share this morning’s experience with his brother, especially since it was Madara. He could repeat it until his face was blue, that he had no real issue with Madara - even given what happened - but for some reason, even Hashirama only saw what he saw. 

Given Tobirama’s moodiness and Hashirama’s very real concern that he might learn things best left unknown, dinner was a quiet affair. Mito may or may not have had a hand in cooking it, but dessert came from a very obvious source - Tobirama’s mother, who was _not_ the late Lady Senju, but the clan’s prized pastry chef. Tobirama may or may not have conned his brother out of his share. 

Eventually, there was no real reason to stay any longer, so he let Hashirama hug him, and in return scrubbed his fingers across his brother’s scalp. “Oh, would you look at that, anija. You’re balding!” And he showed Hashirama the loose strands caught between his fingers. 

“Aah! Why would you do that?!” Hashirama was predictably vain. 

Mito laughed quietly, and waited until Tobirama was nearly out the door - coming face to face with Madara in the entryway - before calling out, “Good night! Have lots of sex!” And Tobirama was treated to the harmony of Hashirama and Madara sputtering at the same time. 

He waited until Madara had recovered enough to meet his eyes before replying, tone just as cheerful as Mito’s: “I hope next one is better.” He smirked at the anguished noise Hashirama let out and pretended to ignore the way Madara’s face turned redder than was likely to be healthy. Perhaps it was petty of him, but Madara probably deserved it. 

All in all, it hadn’t been a bad day. 

* * *

Tobirama would like to point out that he was hardly the only one of Butsuma’s bastards. Given that Butsuma didn’t care as much for daughters, Kukaku was less likely to be recognized outside the clan, but, like most of her siblings, she had been legitimized. Butsuma’s infidelity - allowed for in his marriage contract, with the stipulation that he bring any bastards home - was old news, and Hashirama was the only one of his children with the late Lady Senju. 

Kukaku was as much a regular a part of Tobirama’s life as Touka, or as any of his mother’s children. As such, he would occasionally return home to find that she had invaded while he was away. Tonight, he returned to find her lazing in his seat at the kotatsu, and her son bouncing around in his kitchen. 

“Do I want to know why you’re smirking?” he asked, toeing his shoes off in the entryway. 

“I’ve been _cleaning_ ,” she said, and the smirk grew wider. “You usually leave the house immaculate, aniki. I can only assume you were distracted when you left this morning.” 

Just from the emphasis she placed on the word “cleaning,” it was obvious what she was after. “Voyeur,” he said, rolling his eyes and dropping down to sprawl out where Madara had sat this morning. “Why does everyone want to know about my sex life?” 

In the kitchen, there was the sound of something falling, and Kukaku snickered. “My son doesn’t want to know. But _I’m_ curious.” 

“You can wait until Kagami is sleeping. I assume you’re planning on staying over?” he asked, keeping his tone mild. 

“Why else would I have bothered to clean up your messes. Ugh, and your laundry,” Kukaku grumbled, leaning on her prosthetic, and likely leaving marks on the table’s surface. 

“You didn’t have to touch my laundry, brat.” 

They grouched companionably at each other until Kagami came out with a plate of onigiri to put on the table between them, and Tobirama gave his nephew a hug. The seven year old was obviously tired, and chewed on his own rice ball in a slow, determined fashion. They kept the conversation relatively tame for as long as Kagami was awake, and once it was obvious he wasn’t going to last any longer, Tobirama waved Kukaku down and carried him to the guest room to put to bed. 

When he returned, the true reason for Kukaku’s visit came out: Kagami’s birthright. “I should have known I couldn’t keep it hidden forever. His father’s blood is too strong in him,” she told him bitterly, over a cup of sake that had come out while he was moving Kagami. “Too bad killing that fucker doesn’t mean they won’t try to take my son.” 

“So, he has Uchiha blood,” said Tobirama, grim. “Perhaps someone will read the equation properly and see that they have no right to take him away. If they don’t... The Senju are currently in a position of power, and anija can’t afford to alienate his closest family. We’ll work it out.” 

“You have more faith in our clan than I do, aniki. Tch’. You have more faith in _Hashirama_ than I do.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how soon the Uchiha are going to act on this information, but... I thought, the more time I gave you, the more we can fight it.” 

“Agreed. I’ll talk to anija in the morning and see if I can’t convince him that this is something to be stubborn over.” Hashirama hadn’t always been receptive in the past, and perhaps since they actually dragged Madara into the Founding, he’d had his head in the clouds, but Tobirama held out hope that Hashirama would actually listen for once. Even if he had to be manipulative about it. 

They sat in silence for several minutes, then Kukaku’s expression twisted into a grimace. “Ew. What if they try to make me marry one of them, to make things seem even?” 

Having been taking a drink when she spoke, Tobirama fought not to choke. That was certainly a possibility. Not a pleasant one, either. “Be stubborn unless you find one you like?” he suggested. In this, at least, he knew Hashirama wouldn’t force the subject. The right to choose to marry (or not) had been one of the things they had always agreed on, growing up. 

“Does that mean I should be looking?” she asked. “No, nevermind. I’m going to finish this sake, and I’m going to change the subject. We can’t do anything but plan right now so... Who’d you bang this morning?” 

He choked again. Seriously, why the hell was everyone interested in his sex life? 

* * *


	2. In Which Madara Probably Needs Better Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara may or may not be haunted, and breaking and entering is _not_ a way to endear yourself to someone. Being crazy doesn't mean he can't occasionally come to the correct conclusion...

Why would he want to apologize to that judgemental bastard anyway? “I hope next one is better,” Madara mocked, sneering at the memory of Tobirama’s stupid smirking face as he said it. Who’d want to have sex with Tobirama a second time, anyway? Ugh, why did he do it to begin with? 

His mouth went dry, remembering exactly why he had done it - Tobirama’s ridiculously perfect skin, and what it looked like with red bitten into it. The way his back arched under Madara’s hands, growing sweat slick and still smelling so good, and those little broken sounds he had been making by the end... 

The creaking of leather, as his fists clenched at his side, brought him back to present, and Madara glanced around himself, reminding himself that he was home alone right now. He had every right to fantasize about this morning in his own damned hallway, even if it pissed him off. What had he been doing in the hallway, anyway? Tea, maybe? 

Tea had an unfortunate effect of reminding him of the morning, again, even with the shitty blend of bancha he usually kept, but it also calmed him. And though he had no guest, it always seemed right to have a second setting. It... wasn’t for Izuna, not really. He burned incense for Izuna, talked to his shrine regularly, but the second place setting was there for a different reason. 

Namely, that even when he was alone, he didn’t _feel_ like he was alone. Especially when he was at home, it felt like he was being watched, and sometimes... Well, Madara _could_ be crazy, like Tobirama liked to say. Or he could be haunted by some kind of spirit. He gave the extra cup a nonplussed look. Neither option seemed particularly comforting. 

Whatever it was, the cup was never touched, and the whispers never, ever started until he had begun to relax. _Wouldn’t everything be better if..._ The whispers often enough matched his own thoughts, and he knew what intrusive thoughts were. They were the ones that came first, that tried to give you a glimpse of terrible things that could be caused by an instant’s impulse. 

He wavered. Rather like this morning, he supposed. His actions were his own, but acting on impulse was a dangerous thing. Tobirama was an ally now, no matter his actions in the past. He couldn’t - shouldn’t - just treat an ally - any ally, even Tobirama - like that. Even if Izuna... Madara grunted, and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Izuna had nothing to do with this morning. Izuna was gone. The whispers sometimes suggested that things didn’t have to be that way, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to believe them. 

_If not that, then what do you want?_

“Of course I want my brother back,” Madara sighed, not lifting his face from his hands. “But it’s not just Izuna. It’s...” He breathed a curse against his palms. “It’s Hashirama. It’s all our lost siblings. It’s _Tobirama_ , who lets someone he thinks is crazy just...” He stopped, thought about what he said, and realized, “I fucked up.” 

_?_

Because Tobirama _did_ think Madara was crazy. Dangerously crazy. The only times he deliberately provoked Madara were when there were other people around to mitigate any damage Madara might cause with a lost temper. _Of course_ he didn’t try to stop Madara, not when he was already at such a disadvantage from position alone. Now he _had_ to apologize. 

“It may as well have been rape,” he told the whisper. “That wasn’t permission, it was self-preservation. Fuck.” His fingers dug into his temple, and he grit his teeth. How could he fix this? _Could_ he fix this? 

Madara groaned, and gave in to the urge to just let his head drop to the table, and ignored the clatter of his cup turning on its side. Just another mess to deal with later, and considering the messes he’s been making, a spilled cup of tea didn’t even rate a complaint. 

“I don’t like him,” he stated, just in case the whispers were getting any weird ideas. He absolutely _did not_ like Senju Tobirama one bit. “But that doesn’t _matter_. Or maybe it does. Isn’t there some kind of maxim about how you treat the people you scorn? That it says more about you than it does about them?” 

_Then be better._

Madara was pretty certain that hallucinations aren’t supposed to give good advice, but at this point, he had little to lose. “How can I fix this, though?” 

_Why just this? Why not fix everything?_

He scoffed, and curled his arms up under his head. “No one can fix everything. Even if they wanted to. And no one wants to.” And that was, perhaps, the shittiest thing about the world. Even Hashirama only wanted to fix his own little corner of it. 

For better or worse, the whispers didn’t speak again that night. 

* * *

There was no real chance to corner Tobirama in the morning, much to Madara’s frustration. And when he met up with Hashirama for lunch, Tobirama - who had been in an intense discussion with his brother, and usually didn’t deign to acknowledge his presence - gave Madara one of his patented inscrutable looks, and told Hashirama that they would finish up later. Then he left. 

(It was probably a good thing he didn’t manage to talk to Tobirama at that point. The previous night’s dreams were still heavy in his mind, leaving him with dark thoughts of blood and moon pale skin. Even now, he wasn’t sure if it had been a nightmare or an erotic dream. More likely it was some sick mixture of the two. Gods, he hated his brain.) 

After that, it quickly became apparent that Tobirama was avoiding him, and if Madara were an ounce more charitable, he wouldn’t blame him. Afternoon came and went, and bar any council meetings, he wasn’t apt to see Tobirama again for days. Unless he broke into Tobirama’s house again. Or lurked at Hashirama’s until Tobirama visited. 

He wasn’t going to lower himself to laying in wait in Hashirama’s entryway to ambush Tobirama. That was definitely beneath his dignity. Breaking and entering, however... well, he’d already done that. So he may as well do it again. 

Tobirama’s house was silent and empty when Madara let himself in. (For a lesser ninja, the traps in the various enterances would be deadly, but Madara was one of the best. And in this area, he likely exceeded Hashirama.) Since he was here alone for the first time, he gave in to the urge to poke around and examine Tobirama’s things. 

If he hadn’t been there previously, Madara knew he would have expected Tobirama’s living space to be cold and impersonal. Reality, however, and a bit of digging, proved the Senju to be a bit of a hoarder. Sure, everything was neat and squared away, but there was a shelf chock full of storage scrolls just in the front room. The other shelves, unsurprisingly, were full to the brim of books and other kinds of scrolls; everything from taijutsu forms to tomes on the lost cultures of Wind Country to dog eared science journals from the capital. 

On the table, there were loose papers, an open scroll and another jar that looked much like the one Madara had forgotten to put back yesterday - yesterday’s jar was laying in a place of shame on the floor next to Madara’s bed, because it had made it all the way home with him and contributed to a pre-sleep wank that was way better than it had any right to be. A quick perusal proved that it too was full of thick buttery lotion, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from taking a deep sniff of it before flushing and closing the lid and dropping it back onto the table. 

Putting it back did nothing to stop the visceral reaction his body had to the smell - because there was no way his brain was going to associate that sweet oily scent with anything but Tobirama’s half naked body tight and twisting under him. Flustered and flushed, Madara decided that the kitchen was probably safer. He could make tea and have it ready for whenever Tobirama showed his foxish face. It could even be a good start for his apology. It didn’t even occur to him that breaking and entering wasn’t exactly a good way to earn someone’s good will. 

For better or worse, he fell asleep, leaning against the kotatsu, long before Tobirama returned home. 


	3. Madara's First Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama can easily be as obtuse as his brother. And he proves it.

Some days, Tobirama thought too much. Arguably - and Hashirama has argued with him over this often enough - he thought too much every day. But even he was willing to call it quits when the ghosts of the past haunted every waking moment. Sometimes, those ghosts walked beside him, as real, living, breathing people. He loved his nephew, but the circumstances behind his birth... Tobirama often thought that Kukaku was the strongest of his siblings, that she came away from that with such a fierce and open heart. 

Giving Hashirama a heads up about the situation with Kagami - and an omen of things that may come should Hashirama fuck up when Madara inevitably approached him about it - he spent the rest of the day avoiding the dogged pursuit of said Uchiha. Whatever Madara wanted with him, he wanted no part in it just now. He was too likely to say something he would end up regretting. His sharp tongue and short temper did him no favors here. 

It was easier, keeping his mind off of things when working with the children - his and Hashirama’s team of six impressionable brats, ranging between seven and ten years old. For the most part, they amused him. Given that Kagami seemed to be developing a crush on one of the other boys and a rivalry with the one girl he was working with, he was well entertained until it was time to send them on their way. 

This time Kukaku ended up dragging him and Kagami over to have dinner at Hashirama’s, and for a while, that also kept him occupied. Then drinks came out, and even Kagami got to try his mother’s sake. It was hardly surprising that they ended up spending the night. 

Waking up in a cold sweat, hours before dawn was almost expected. Too much sake - not his alcohol of choice - tended to cause unpleasant dreams as well as a hangover when he woke. The dreams were fleeting and disjointed, but one thing he remembered clearly was sitting across from the Shogun and _Itama_ eating poorly seasoned, unidentifiable meat from a skewer. Everything else was a mixture of red and white - blood and snow - like many of his worst dreams. 

The idea of his little brother having been there, in that place and time was too much. Shunsui, on the other hand, had actually been there with him, so that was no new horror. Determinedly, Tobirama put away his thoughts on his first long term solo mission. There was little point wallowing in the past, and even less in dragging the memories of his lost brothers through the worst parts of it. 

Rather than wake anyone else, he chose to return home and get an early start on the work slowly accumulating on his kotatsu. That was what he had been thinking anyway. His feet started dragging the instant he recognized the somnolent chakra infesting his living room. “An early start on work” was not meant to be a prophecy, and yet here he was. 

Madara didn’t stir when he entered. Nor when Tobirama went to the small shrine he kept for his family and prayed for patience - and if not that, an excuse to borrow Touka’s “stupid stick”. He didn’t stir when Tobirama picked up the cold teapot from the table and tidied the space around him. Nor when Tobirama went to the kitchen to resignedly prepare breakfast for himself and the uninvited guest drooling on his papers. 

He added _possibly suicidal_ to his mental list of Madara’s demonstrated symptoms, given the man’s lack of situational awareness in what amounted to an enemy’s home. The list was getting rather long, and included such lovely gems as unprovoked rages, violent mood swings, and a lack of self-control that was frankly alarming in a shinobi. The very fact that Madara was sleeping soundly enough that he didn’t notice Tobirama coming in... Tobirama wondered how the man had even survived as a shinobi. 

As Tobirama didn’t feel like doing much, breakfast was simple. Onigiri made from day old rice, plain miso, and genmaicha. And if Madara dared comment on his tea choice - especially after drinking some of Tobirama’s best gyokuro and saying nothing, and apparently, at some point digging into his sencha as well - Tobirama was... probably just going to take it, though not gracefully. Besides, genmaicha is good for the stomach, and Tobirama’s had been sour since he’d awoken. 

Madara still didn’t wake when Tobirama started setting the food on the table. Nor when he took his seat across from him. He didn’t even wake when Tobirama yanked the paper he’d been drooling on from underneath his face. Nonplussed, Tobirama just stared at him for a long moment. Madara’s face was completely hidden by that messy mop he called hair, but chakra didn’t usually lie, not to a sensor of Tobirama’s caliber. 

He also wasn’t about to let Madara continue to sleep, not when he went out of his way to make breakfast for them both. He reached out, snagged a handful of Madara’s hair and in spite of the fact that Madara woke as soon a his grip tightened, he continued on with his course of action, and lifted Madara’s head several inches from the table, then let him drop. Tobirama stared impassively as Madara scrambled backwards, sputtering and with his eyes wide. “What the fuck was that?” 

Not bothering to mention that he’d been trying, subtly, to wake Madara up since arriving, Tobirama asked, “Why are you here?” (He also pretended that he wasn’t glad, on some level, for the distraction. Madara didn’t need to know that he had probably saved Tobirama hours of wallowing in his own mind.) 

Madara scowled at him from around where he was rubbing his face, and grumbled something petulant sounding. Then, more clearly: “I was going to apologize.” 

Tobirama blinked. Turned it over in his mind, only to reach no conclusion. “For what?” Madara gaped instead of answering, so Tobirama sighed and pushed the onigiri and Madara’s bowl toward him. And the tea, offered with a wry smile. “I make a policy of not accepting apologies when I don’t know exactly what prompted them.” 

Madara’s voice sounded strangled when he finally managed a reply. “Wise.” He coughed. “You. You don’t know? How. How can you not know? I just.” His hands flapped up and down and Tobirama was reminded of an owl he caught as a child and how it had kept trying to take off, even with his hands around it. “I just! Fuck. What. What have I done recently that would warrant an apology, Senju? Just. Think about it. I, I can’t. I can’t make myself say it!” 

He felt his eyebrows tuck together as he frowned. There were a lot of things he felt Madara should apologize for if he ever found the sense to. It was hard to narrow it down to just one thing. A large amount of it was diplomatic incidents - mostly because Madara _had_ been on the losing side of the civil war that was still being wrapped up. “If this is work related, you could have just taken it to my office.” Now, just which incident would Madara be most likely to want settled? “Until anija stops laughing about how you landed in ‘Hot Water,’ you aren’t going back to Yugakure. That isn’t to say that you aren’t due some vacation time. You’ll just have to take it closer to home.” 

“What?” Madara squawked. He really shouldn’t find it so entertaining to wind the man up and watch him go, but there were times when Tobirama wondered if that wasn’t what Hashirama had liked about Madara from the start. “That isn’t! This isn’t about some, some _onsen_ , Senju! I can handle the same workload as anyone else!” 

“We can spare you for a few days,” Tobirama replied, rolling his eyes at the dramatics and focusing on his tea. “There’s even a nice little onsen only a couple hours away at _normal_ shinobi running speeds. A lot of our people have been going there on their downtime, and it would be no problem to send you.” Also, it would get him out of Tobirama’s hair. 

“I said it wasn’t about Yugakure!” That was a shout, and Tobirama gave Madara his most displeased glare, and Madara surprised him by subsiding. Madara made a face and looked away, huffing. “It’s not that. It’s not about work. It’s _personal_.” 

Personal. Tobirama leaned back, absently toying with an onigiri. If it was about Kagami, Madara would have probably come out and said so. It probably had little to do with bursting in at Hashirama’s, either, unless Madara was so embarrassed by the parting shot that he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. Unlikely. “You’ll have to use your words.” 

“You...” He barely got the word out before he devolved into head shaking and sputtering. “You honestly don’t know what it is? That I. Did to you. Personally?” 

There was that word again. Personal. This time, emphasized by “you”. “It could have been any number of things, I’m sure,” he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again. “You offend me on a regular basis. And I doubt you’re planning to stop any time soon.” 

“I...” This time, the word was followed by a pathetic little squeak as Madara buried his face in his hands. “I can’t. I just. I’m sorry. And I won’t do it again.” Like a small child, he peeked out through his fingers at Tobirama. “Probably,” he conceded. 

“I’m going to repeat myself exactly once.” He set down the onigiri, uneaten, and reached across the table and pushed Madara’s hands away from his face. “I. Make. A policy. Of not accepting apologies. When I don’t know. Exactly. What prompted them.” 

With a despairing whimper, Madara leaned forward, over his food. Which seemed to bring his attention to the fact that there _was_ food. “Did you. Did you make breakfast?” 

“Not much of one,” Tobirama agreed, shrugging. “If you want, I can give you an itemized list of everything I think you should apologize for. Then you can just point at it.” 

“Okay. That. That works.” Madara was quiet for a long moment, nibbling on one of the onigiri and giving the miso a suspicious look. “Is that just miso?” he asked. 

“Aa,” Tobirama agreed. 

“Nothing in it but miso?” Madara swirled the small bowl as if expecting to see anything else but the pale red of the miso. “You’re having _plain_ miso for breakfast?” Then he seemed to take the rest of the simple meal in. “And _genmaicha_? Are you poor all of a sudden?” 

“I’m not going out of my way for _you_. Besides, I like genmaicha. And you went through roughly half of my gyokuro the other day.” And that, he noted, was a genuine tragedy. The gyokuro was the best tea he had, and it had been a gift. Now _there_ was something Madara could apologize for. In fact... Tobirama pulled a blank page over, then hunted down a pen and his ink block. 

There was the first item for his list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason Tobirama was so annoyed about the tea:
> 
> Gyokuro is one of the most expensive types of Japanese green tea. It varies between $40 per 100 g (approx 3.5 oz, also USD, I think) to nearly $500 for the same (by what I was able to find, and this is modern context), and tends to only come out for special occasions, much like a really expensive wine.
> 
> Bancha, which Madara drinks, is about $7 or $8, again, for about 100 g, and it’s pretty much the common tea of Japan, being a cheaper alternative to the higher quality Sencha.
> 
> Genmaicha (also called Brown Rice Tea, or Popcorn Tea), on the other hand, is closer to $5 for a similar amount, and is well liked, even if it’s cheap.
> 
> The reason Tobirama has such teas..? Well, that may or may not be explored eventually. Probably will. The reason he pulled it out the gyokuro when he did..? That also might be explored eventually. Maybe. Depends on how malable the characters are.


	4. The Vacation Madara Didn't Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a break. Clear your head. Then try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I went to sleep and suddenly there were a ton of reviews. I love you all. :’D (I admit, I was a little overwhelmed at first. Excited too.) All you lovely reviewers gave my brain the push it needed to finish a specific scene that I’d stalled out on too. Hold onto your seats folks! This one’s a bit longer than usual. Almost double. 
> 
> As you can see, I gave in to the urge to post a little early. :3

The vacation was completely unnecessary, but Hashirama had given him this look, like he’d kicked a thousand puppies, when Madara tried to tell him so. He _knew_ that Tobirama was fucking with him, and _that’s_ why he was... getting unasked for leave. It sounded petty, thinking of it that way, but no matter what he had said to Tobirama, he knew the truth. And the truth was, he actually needed a little time to himself to relax. 

Besides, it _was_ a nice onsen - he conceded the point to Tobirama for the suggestion - and he had three whole days booked with his own, private spring. 

...What was he going to do with himself? 

Well, he decided, he was going to try to relax, that’s what. With that in mind, he dropped his pack and stripped off his gloves, dropping them onto the comfortable looking bedding. He could just take a nap right away, but no, the water was calling. A quick wash and a long soak would be _perfect_. 

The water turned out to be heavenly, just shy of too hot, and he found himself relaxing, almost against his will. And although he could sense the chakra of others nearby, the presences were even more scattered than in the Uchiha clan holdings, and fewer besides. For once, he was alone and actually felt alone. 

Rather like when he’d fallen asleep at Tobirama’s, he thought wryly. Without feeling like he was being watched, he... dropped his guard. Too much. Far, far too much. So much so that he hadn’t heard Tobirama come back, didn’t wake until he was jolted awake by fingers tightening painfully into his hair. If Tobirama had actually wanted to kill him, in that brief moment, Madara had been easy pickings. 

Unfortunately, thinking of Tobirama reminded him of the note sitting among his supplies. The note which, should Madara read it, would definitely turn out to be its own little source of stress. Just thinking about looking at it, and he could feel the tension winding back up in his gut, because on that innocuous piece of paper, there was going to be every little thing Tobirama wanted an apology for. 

And it was a long list. He had been there while Tobirama was writing part of it. Madara knew he didn’t want to read it when he had to deal with people. Especially not when he had to deal with Tobirama in specific. He was too apt to lose his temper, and then there wouldn’t be any point in apologizing anymore, because it would be impossible to seem sincere. 

Madara brought dripping hands up to rub his temples. He wasn’t meant to be stressing. Sure, he needed to read that note at some point - preferably before returning to Konoha - but it didn’t have to be right away. He sighed and turned around in the water to lean up against the carved edge of the pool, pillowing his head against his arms. 

Better to just let the water eke out the stress from his muscles, and try not to fall asleep. 

He snapped awake with a curse, the moment he started slipping. He barely managed to catch himself in time to keep the majority of his hair - piled on top of his head in the messiest of buns, but it was the closest to tame he could manage - out of the water. While he wasn’t jealous of Hashirama for having such smooth, straight hair - not for how it looked, anyway - he thought that it was probably nice to have hair that didn’t take hours to dry. 

With that thought, he dragged himself out of the water and dried himself off while adjusting to the lack of buoyancy. Once done, he wandered back into his room, dragging his towel and not bothering with the provided yukata. If someone bothered him, they deserved to get the shit beaten out of them by a naked man. There was little more surreal, Madara knew, than your opponent’s swaying genitalia in a fight, especially if they were winning. 

Madara snickered as he dug a hairbrush out of his pack. There had been plenty of surreal battles in his past, but in the one he was thinking of, the naked man had been Hashirama. Since it was a kinder time in his life, he had been more concerned with not choking on his own spit, rather than actually focusing on getting past the naked man and his vows of friendship. 

A few minutes of futile tugging later, he found himself thinking wistfully of straight, smooth hair. Izuna’s hair had been like that too, as had their mother’s. Why he couldn’t have inherited her hair, rather than the horrible bush from his father’s side was beyond him. Actually, now that he thought about it, he had been the only one. All of his siblings had gotten his mother’s hair, and even Tajima’s had been smoother than Madara’s. 

Obviously, he had just been born cursed. 

Finally giving it up as a bad job, he dropped the brush and flopped into bed, landing face first on his gloves. It took a long moment to register that they smelled of more than leather, and once he did... Yeah, that was just what he needed right now. Still... He took a deep breath, intentionally catching that other scent. It was faded, but one glove in particular smelled like that thrice damned lotion. 

Not lifting his face from them, he groaned, the memory of _why_ it smelled like that ringing clarion in his mind - Tobirama, tight and rocking back against his fingers, back twisting. He had looked so good like that, felt even better. And Madara probably shouldn’t be thinking about it again, not like this, not with _I want_ ringing in his thoughts. But he was alone right now, and acting on what he wanted, here and now, wasn’t going to hurt anyone. 

He reached up with one hand and snagged the gloves as he turned onto his back, immediately bringing them back up to his face. If he was going to do this, in spite of the shame curling in his gut - which, ironically, fed into miserable arousal - he might as well embrace the creepiness of it. 

This time, he intentionally brought up memories of that morning, and for the first time realized that they had the crystal clarity of images recorded by the Sharingan. He hadn’t even realized that he had activated it, but there it was, showing him with perfect clarity the barest shiver of pale skin beneath his hands, covered with a sheen of sweat that shimmered in the low light. 

Madara’s mouth watered and he swallowed, let his free hand drag down his chest and belly, and enjoyed the way his muscles fluttered and twitched at the sensation. He dragged his nails experimentally across his abdomen and groaned into the leather pressed against his mouth. A shuddering breath, and he palmed himself roughly, the curve of Tobirama’s ass in his mind’s eye. 

He shoved the gloves between his teeth, partly to stifle a groan, and partly to free his hand to dig into his pack again. Eventually, his hand closed around a cool jar, and he abandoned his cock for the contents. He shouldn’t have even brought the damned lotion with him, but here he was, digging just enough out to slick his hand, and the smell of it was stronger now. Unconsciously, his hand went right back to where he needed it, and he just... focused on that smell. Wondered, a bit, how Tobirama’s face had looked, in those last moments. 

Instead, his Sharingan gave him something else: Tobirama on the battlefield, a fierce scowl on his brow. Mouth parting slightly when he emerges victorious, yet again. White hair and blue armor, all in dynamic lines, lunging straight for him with a sword that was sharper than his tongue. Proud and never broken, until - pale skin, and supple spine, bent over for _Madara_ , and making those beautiful sounds... Madara gasped, gloves falling free from his mouth and hips bucking desperately into his hand. 

Dazed in the aftermath, he wondered. He wondered if he could ever have that _willingly_. If he could see that every day, each time different enough that it eventually drowned out everything else. And let out a pained laugh, because, even if he hadn’t already fucked up, there was too much between them that couldn’t be made right, even if they both gave it their all. 

* * *

The note was a taunt. He found it on the floor, having fallen out of his pack at some point, and stared at if for what felt like a full five minutes before picking it up and setting it on the table. He had two days left of his vacation, and he wasn’t going to waste them by being angry the entire time. 

Still, it didn’t matter what he did, he kept coming back to that note. 

Looking for a distraction, he actually availed himself of the so called “massages” being offered. And while an ancient woman with sharp fingers and shockingly strong hands tried her best to beat the knotted muscles in his back into submission, his mind was still on that damned piece of paper, no longer as neat and crisp as when it had been first given to him. 

“Whatever you’re thinking about, young man, stop it. I can’t help you if you just knot back up every time I manage to clear one.” She kept trying for some time, but eventually, she sighed. “Fine, I’m just going to have to get the needles.” 

...That got his mind off the note for a while. 

* * *

Come evening, he was curled around a pillow, staring at it where it innocuously rested. It was getting too late to actually do much, and Madara had managed to avoid reading the damned thing for almost two days now. After tonight, he had one more night at the onsen, before he was expected to go back to Konoha, and he wasn’t going to be that guy, the one who read a debriefing at the last minute - such as when they were already on the mission - and expected to just breeze through. 

But he didn’t have to read it tonight. And while he knew that, he also knew that there was nothing to distract him so late, nothing but the onsen and himself. It was so quiet here. The few people in residence avoided the private section - sensible when dealing with shinobi in general - and he was getting lonely. 

Wait. He could summon a fox! Madara grimaced. If he did that, he would be stuck eating tofu, aburagé and adzukimeshi for _days_. Inarizushi might be his favorite, but even he didn’t want it every day. 

Perhaps a small fox. A very small fox. A pipe fox. A single pipe fox couldn’t eat that much more than a human, and they were loyal, friendly creatures. 

With the barest hint of chakra, and a streak of blood, a small companion puffed into existence. “Hello,” it said, then streaked halfway across the room and back. “Hello,” it said again and repeated the process. 

Madara interrupted before it could make a third pass. “Hello little one. I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Madara. What’s your name?” 

Its tiny head tilted to the side, and it blinked its slightly too large inky black eyes at him. It seemed to be thinking, though with a pipe fox, it was hard to be sure. “Gouawae,” it finally said. “And you are Madara-sama? Gouawae gets to help Madara-sama, of the tasty aburagé and other tasty tasty snacks?” 

Madara sighed. Sometimes it seemed that was all the foxes wanted. “Yes, we can get inarizushi tomorrow, if you’re nice and helpful.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Gouawae, huh?” That sounded an awful lot like “Go away.” He could only imagine how the creature came by such a name. 

“What does Madara-sama need?” it asked, darting up to him. Gouawae was big for a pipe fox, a little longer than the span of his hand and about as thick as his smallest finger. It was also one of the cutest things he’d ever summoned. While Gouawae wasn’t the first pipe fox he had seen, this was the first time Madara had summoned one. 

“Just company,” he replied, offering it his hand. “I was thinking of relaxing in the onsen. Would you like to come with?” 

Gouawae’s beady eyes went perfectly round, and took on an extra shiny cast. “An onsen? _Me_? Madara-sama is taking Gouawae to an onsen?” 

“Of course,” he said, and the fox climbed into his hand and then up his arm, tiny claws hooking into the cloth of his yukata. It would be nice to have good company for a while. 

“Yay!” 

* * *

When Madara woke up the next morning, Gouawae was sitting on the note. Knowing that it wasn’t a good idea to offend one’s own summons, he merely scowled at it, rather than throwing a pillow at it like he wanted to. “What is it?” 

“Gouawae doesn’t know,” it said, then it stood, circling the note. “Madara-sama needs to read this, but Madara-sama won’t like it. Madara-sama won’t like it at all. And Madara-sama won’t find what Madara-sama wants to find. Gouawae is concerned, but Madara-sama promised inarizushi today, so Gouawae is staying right here.” 

“Do I have to read it now?” Madara asked, sitting up and trying to shove his hair out of his face. He grimaced when his fingers caught in it, and spent several moments tugging them free from the tangles. Clearly, some kind of attempt at untangling it was necessary if he was going to go out looking for food. 

“No?” it said, sounding both confused and surprised. Then it cheered up. “No. Gouawae is happy Madara-sama won’t be unhappy so soon. Does Madara-sama need help? Gouawae is a master of grooming.” 

Madara snorted. “I think I can handle brushing my own hair.” 

It turned out that brushing one’s hair is a lot harder with a pipe fox attempting to help. The company was still appreciated, though, so Madara wasn’t about to complain. Once he got it as untangled as it was going to get, he pulled it up into a high tail and tied it around itself. 

Gouawae had something to say about that, though. “Gouawae can hold Madara-sama’s hair, if Madara-sama wants.” 

He paused, gave the small creature a stern look. “I’m not letting you eat on top of my head.” 

“Aww...” 

* * *

Throughout the day, Madara asked the fox, “Do I need to read it yet?” and invariably, the fox said “No.” He asked one more time before retiring for the night, and the answer was the same, even though tomorrow, he had to head back. Madara trusted Gouawae’s opinion, though. If there was one thing pipe foxes were known for, it was divination, and they were quite honest and devoted with their masters. 

So he went to sleep without worrying about the stupid note. Several hours later, he woke up to the sound of a high pitched, grating growl, and knew immediately what had set Gouawae off. “Hello darkness my old friend,” he murmured to the change in atmosphere, and the pipe fox cowered on the edge of the bed. 

It shouldn’t be comforting that Gouawae reacted to the presence too, but it _was_ , because it meant he wasn’t hallucinating. It was also comforting when the tiny fox darted in to curl up against his throat, still making that grating noise. He placed one hand over the fox, and it finally went quiet. 

Even though the whispers never started, Madara slept only fitfully for the rest of the night. 

* * *

It was just as well that his vacation was coming to an end. Now that the disquieting presence was there, it would stay for as long as he did. That was what usually happened when he was away from the village for long. Gouawae was highly agitated the entire morning before they left, darting around his room and snapping at the shadows, seeming to have lost the ability to speak. 

Once they were well on their way, the tiny fox crawled up into Madara’s collar, hidden underneath the mass of his hair. “Gouawae doesn’t like the shadows,” it mumbled. “Gouawae was scared, but Gouawae isn’t a coward. Madara-sama shouldn’t be alone with an onryō. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.” It repeated itself a few dozen more times, shaking its head back and forth next to his ear. Eventually, Gouawae lapsed into silence and slowly stopped moving, until all Madara felt from it was its breath against his ear. 

Nearly an hour later, the pipe fox jerked awake, and yipped in his ear. “Now. Madara-sama needs to read it now!” 

“What?” 

“Madara-sama’s paper,” said the fox. “Madara-sama needs to read it before Madara-sama gets home. Gouawae _knows this_. Madara-sama should trust Gouawae. Gouawae is the most honest and knowledgable kanko.” 

What an adorable little narcissist. Still, he slowed to a stop and fished the note out of his pack, because it had a point. Once he had the page in hand, he started walking again, not bothering to return to speed. Ugh, he wasn’t looking forward to this. 

Still, the first item was almost funny. “He’s worried about his tea?” Madara scoffed. “Fine, I can apologize for that. Not sure why it bothers him though.” The second was a little less so. “Again with the tea? What, did you seriously expect me to wait for you to show your face?” 

The third... Yeah, it was getting less and less funny. About halfway down the list, he swore. So what, he was loud. That’s just how he was. Nothing Tobirama said would change that, and there was no point in apologizing for it. A little further on, Madara laughed. “Don’t be stupid. That idiot cries all the time. By this point, you’re reaching.” 

He wasn’t quite to the end when he realized that the Incident wasn’t on Tobirama’s list. He should have known as much - after all, Gouawae had said so. But the very last item on the list had him spitting curses and tearing the paper into shreds, the fox flinching down into his collar. 

“I’m not fucking apologizing for existing, you stuck up asshole!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese foods:  
> It’s said that a fox’s favorite foods are tofu, aburagé and adzukimeshi. Now, most of us know what tofu is. The other two are a little less widely known, at least where I’m from.
> 
> Adzukimeshi is rice boiled with red mung beans (adzuki, or red beans, which are usually made into a sweetened paste and used in a variety of pastries) and sake, I believe (not 100% certain of the sake).
> 
> Aburagé are soft and thin pieces of fried tofu that can be split open and filled with rice and other things - which is how you make inarizushi - or sliced and added to other dishes, such as oden (a type of hotpot that can consist of a variety of foods stewed in a seaweed based broth), or udon (type of brothy noodle dish). With aburagé added, these dishes become kitsune oden and kitsune udon, respectively. Sometimes aburagé are referred to as fried tofu pockets.
> 
> Inarizushi is supposed to be Madara’s fav - according to one of the databooks - and I agree with him. Personally, I’d be happy to eat the aburagé on it’s own, and I have, many times. It’s delicious. Yum yum. I’m drooling just thinking about it.
> 
> Spirits and Summons:  
> Pipe foxes: Tiny foxes with long bodies, that are usually small enough to fit in a bamboo pipe. They’re also called Kuda-gitsune (lit. “pipe fox”), Kanko, or Izuna (yep, same kanji even, which is lit. “least weasel”). Unlike other foxes that work for people, they don’t tend to act outside of orders, which would make them an ideal summon. Things they are known to be used for things like divination, or for cursing those you don’t like, who will become Kitsunetsuki (lit. possessed by a fox, though in more modern terms, it’s also called fox sickness). In an interesting side effect of being possessed, a victim may temporarily gain the ability to read, write and speak languages they couldn’t previously, even if they were completely illiterate.
> 
> Onryō: A vengeful ghost formed from powerful feelings like rage or sorrow. In this case, I’m taking a few liberties with what an onryō _is_. Usually, it’s the spirit of the deceased, but in this case... (I’m vaguely confirming what a few of you have already asked about.)
> 
> [A Picture of Gouawae, because I had the urge to draw it.](http://s1371.photobucket.com/user/kagekashu/media/IMG_20180413_154405%20-%20Edited_zpsgsdej0sm.jpg.html?o=0)


	5. The Most Civilized Form of Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tobirama works, Madara tries to tell him what he’s apologizing for. Via memorandum. Then Hashirama decides to get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting early again. Since I'm almost finished writing the final chap, it seemed safe enough. xD I might get slightly slower at replying to reviews soon, because I spent too much time googling pretty pictures on my phone this month, and I’m running out of data. Just a warning. :D And now, for something slightly different:
> 
> Another one of my pet peeves! Applies not only to the Naruto world (and the fanfiction therein), but to every single freaking show that does this. Making each generation of characters copy-pasted to the next. How many of you look exactly like your grandparents did at your age, or _act_ just like them??? I have some similarities to my grandmothers - both of them - and guess what? They looked nothing alike. My mom didn’t look like her mom, and I don’t look like her, in spite of occasional similar qualities. And behaviorally, we’re all different too.
> 
> Shikamaru, for example, was supposed to be noted as being particularly brilliant, and _no one knew_ until his jounin sensei managed to trick him with a test. If his father, grandfather, and great grandfather (or the women of the line, for that matter, even though we don’t see any but his mom in the anime) were the same, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Nara are just one example to use. The only thing that should be exactly the same from generation to generation is the techniques being handed down, except when said techniques evolve. Otherwise, they wouldn’t really be interesting characters, would they?

The Uchiha haven’t approached the Senju or the Hokage - which amounted to the same thing in this case - about Kagami yet. Tobirama would be more concerned, except they weren’t likely to go around Madara’s back for it, and Madara was still out of the village for his vacation. 

Tobirama hid a smirk behind his hand, even though he was alone in his office. Madara was in for something of a surprise when he got back. Knowing him, his reaction was going to be anything but subtle when he found the note Tobirama had left on his desk. Likely, he would blow up and entertain everyone in the central administrative building for at least an hour after finding it. 

Still, all it had taken was implying to Hashirama that his best friend might be getting a little stressed, and Madara was out of his hair for the better part of a week. Unfortunately, for political reasons, they couldn’t schedule any council meetings while the man was gone. But since the village as a whole was Hashirama’s concern, it wasn’t his place to complain. _He_ had his clan to worry about. 

He was long familiar with everything that needed to be done, as he had already done most of it before his brother took on the mantle of leadership for the entire village. In fact, it was easier, not having to hound Hashirama just to get anything done. Admittedly, it was boring now that he didn’t have to argue with his brother every day about clan policy, but it was efficient, and that was enough to keep him content. 

(It would be nice, for once, to be able to say that he was happy when his brother asked, but Tobirama was a moody individual. Content was the best they could really expect. He had family that he loved, and was loved in return. He had students to teach, a village to help grow, and time to devote to more intellectual pursuits. So he was content.) 

Tobirama felt the spike of chakra miles away, while in the middle of a meeting with the heads of two other clans about classes in the academy. Madara was on his way back to Konoha, and something - Tobirama had a pretty good idea of what - had put him in a foul mood. But as of yet, he was still a good hour or so away from the village. Hopefully, Tobirama would be able to wrap up this meeting by the time Madara returned. 

The Inuzuka head - interim, similar to Tobirama’s position, though the Inuzuka was actively searching for a clan matriarch - was a rather noisy man by the name of Kouga. And while he did a decent job running his clan, it wasn’t because they respected him. It was more that no one else in the clan was willing to accept the job, and he was trapped with it. Kouga gestured wildly and talked in run-on sentences while the Nara watched impassively. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Tobirama said, cutting the man off mid-rant. “I understand that the structured learning style doesn’t work as well for your clan, and there are plenty of kinesthetic learners in the other clans as well. While we could make a separate curriculum for children of similar leanings, you’ll still have to present your case in front of the council. Which means that you’ll have to make an articulate argument.” 

Kouga settled down with a disgruntled whine. “I can’t do articulate, Senju.” 

Yasutora, the Nara head, let out a quiet groan of agreement. “Arguing,” he said, with a tone that implied that having to argue was the worst possible thing he could think of. And he said nothing else, thus demonstrating his entire problem. In a clan that was known for being laconic, the man was a mountain, silent and unmoving. 

The Inuzuka inched away from the other clan head. “Why can’t you just agree? I mean, the academy is in your purview, isn’t it? That means you should have final say in this shit!” 

Tobirama sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And I still have to justify any changes made to the curriculum. To the council, the Hokage, and the treasury. There’s only so much of a budget for the academy, and adding an entirely new curriculum will cost money. In order to get this done, I need a well thought out and articulated argument that _doesn’t come from me_.” _For once,_ he didn’t add. 

“Can’t you just give me an argument?” asked Kouga. His eyes were wide and pleading, but that never had worked very well on Tobirama. 

“Don’t you think they’d recognize my words?” Tobirama asked wryly. He shook his head. It was rather like dealing with children, only children were _easier_ to deal with than adults in positions of responsibility. “It’s time to let Yasutora speak.” 

When they turned to him - Kouga rather disappointingly conceding the position of speaker - the Nara just sat there silently. Not unlike a lump. 

Tobirama coughed. “Yasutora-san. It’s your turn.” 

Yasutora’s head tipped back slightly, like he was looking at Tobirama through his hair. “...right.” 

This time, he did pinch the bridge of his nose. Focused for a moment on breath control, then said, “Yasutora-san, your note said you have some concerns about the academy?” It was part of why Tobirama had scheduled to have both the Nara and the Inuzuka at the same time. He had _hoped_ that they would balance each other a little. 

“Kunoichi.” 

He and Kouga were both screaming internally. Tobirama could see it in the Inuzuka’s eyes. Usually, Tobirama had vast stores of patience, but dealing with this particular Nara often tested them, as he preferred to get things done in a quick and efficient manner. Talking to Yasutora was anything but efficient. “Yes? What about kunoichi?” 

“The lessons.” 

It felt like some part of him just _died_. The Nara’s infamous stoicism meant it was like pulling teeth, just to get him to say two fucking words. “Alright. Kunoichi lessons. What. Is. Your. Concern. With. The. Kunoichi lessons?” 

“Everyone should.” 

Kouga interrupted, looking just as confused as he sounded. “...have issue with them? I thought the Nara were more egalitarian that that?” And that just about summed up what Tobirama was feeling. 

“...yes.” 

What? Tobirama groaned. Which part was the Nara responding to? This was going to be a really, really long meeting. 

(He wondered sometimes, why it was that all of the strongest shinobi had _personalities_.) 

* * *

“Use your words, you damned mute bastard!” Kouga was screaming, making an impressive attempt to shake the much larger Nara by his shoulders, when Madara slammed the door open. Tobirama barely glanced up from where he had dropped his head onto his desk, in spite of being grateful for the interruption. 

Madara didn’t seem to know what to make of the tableau, as Kouga had frozen in place at his entrance. He made an indecisive face, then gave in and snarled, “I’m not fucking apologizing for existing, you stuck up bastard!” 

“You can kill me for suggesting it, if it would make you feel better,” Tobirama replied. He was so done with his current situation, that Madara’s appearance wasn’t anywhere near as amusing as it should have been. “Or you can go back to your office and settle back in. I’m sure anija would like to have lunch with you.” 

Making another face, Madara shook his fist at Tobirama, then closed the door. Too bad. 

“Alright,” he said, sitting back up. “I think I know how we’re going to handle this. Yasutora-san, you’ll help Kouga say more with less, even if you have to write it down. Kouga is going to help you decide what you need to say. Again, you can write it down, so you have something to read from when we have the next council meeting.” 

“...Sure,” said Yasutora, but Kouga gave a despairing moan. 

“Do you hate me?” he muttered, but didn’t seem to expect a reply, because he kept on muttering. “This is it. This is how I die.” He kept right on grumbling as he and the Nara got ready to go. “I don’t think I can do this. Did you not see me trying to get him to talk? We’re doomed to failure, you and I, Yasutora, and I’m sure it’s all your fault...” 

Kouga was still talking when the door closed behind him, but finally, Tobirama’s office was empty. _That should turn out interesting,_ he thought, then grinned at the sound of an enraged shriek coming from Madara’s office. Twenty seconds later, his door was slammed open again, and Madara stood there, wordlessly pointing at him before spinning away with a huff. 

Making a copy of the list had been an excellent idea. 

* * *

The first memo arrived the next day, brought by a disconcerted office flunkey, while he had lunch with Touka, and complained about the previous day’s meetings. She complained right back, because apparently getting a bunch of mid-level shinobi working together when they were all from different clans was a special level of hell. “And what am I going to do with that much confiscated sugar?” she was saying, when the courier arrived. 

He accepted the memo without even looking directly at the one bearing it. “Just look at the bright side,” he said, ignoring her when she huffed that there was no bright side to this kind of idiocy. “They’re actually working together for once.” 

“Tch. Why is it they can only work together if they’re going to die, or if they’re being stupid?” she asked rhetorically, then nodded at his paper. “What is that, anyway?” 

“No idea,” he said, packing away the remains of his meal before even bothering to look. It was Madara’s handwriting, thick and blocky in a way that suggested that the Uchiha was having difficulty containing himself. 

All it said was, ‘ _It wasn’t on your list._ ’ 

Tobirama frowned down at the paper. He knew what Madara was saying, but if the problem he was having wasn’t something that was on that list, he had no idea what it was. He finished up his lunch with Touka, enduring her curiosity but not indulging it, and once she was gone, wrote a reply. 

‘ _There is nothing else to apologise for._ ’ 

* * *

He could hear the fit Madara threw upon receiving his memo from another floor, and wasn’t surprised at all to see an ashen faced courier fifteen minutes later. ‘ _This IS THE only THing Senju! Stop BEING OBTUSE!_ ’ 

Resigned, and vaguely amused, Tobirama wrote another reply. ‘ _If it’s that important to you, you’ll have to tell me what it is._ ’ 

* * *

‘ _I CAN’T WRITE IT DOWN_ ’ 

‘ _Must not be that important then._ ’ 

‘ _NOOOO I can’t write it down because it isn’t the sort of thing that should be written down. WHERE ANYONE CAN JUST READ IT_ ’ 

Tobirama was getting frustrated. This had gone on long enough that all he really wanted was to pry open the idiot’s brain and find out what he was so concerned about. He had an idle thought about the Yamanaka’s secret techniques, then realized that he probably didn’t want that close of a look into Madara’s brain. ‘ _Then put it in a way that only I will understand, if your pea brain can handle it._ ’ 

There were several more back and forths - the couriers looking more and more hunted each time, and doing their level best to be scarce - before Tobirama received a note that just had a date and time. After reading it... He stared out the window, wondering why he had never expected an apology for that. 

He could almost understand why someone _would_ apologize, but at the same time, he really didn’t. It was just... sex. Not even particularly bad sex. Sure, it was sudden and unexpected, and sure, Tobirama still had mixed feelings about it, but... It was just sex. Sex that had made him feel all twisted inside, upset enough that he had taken down his best teapot and made gyokuro, when normally he saved it for special occasions. But it was... just sex. 

He remained staring out the window for quite a while longer. 

* * *

When the flunkey came for him, nearly an hour later, nervously telling him that the Hokage wanted to see him, Tobirama wordlessly handed him the last memo, and watched the man cringe. He didn’t have to tell the courier where to take it. 

Still feeling oddly detached, he wondered what it was his brother wanted, even as he made his way to Hashirama’s office. His pace slowed considerably once he realized Madara was already there, with something else. Not someone - the chakra was not particularly weak, just _small_ , like it was contained in a very small creature. Curious. 

It didn’t tell him why Hashirama wanted both of them, however. There were very few outstanding missions that would require even one of them, and there had been no incoming reports of great concern. Even Nara Yasutora would have gotten off his ass and done something if such a report came in, and Tobirama would have felt the spark of chakra when he did. 

As he approached, he instinctively quieted his chakra into something that felt very like the administrative building’s background hum. And once he actually reached the door, he eavesdropped shamelessly. If it turned out to be something serious, he would walk in forearmed, if not... 

“How the hell was I supposed to know?” Madara was grouching. 

Hashirama, on the other hand, actually sounded _offended_. “You don’t just serve a tea like gyokuro in any teapot. Even if you have no taste, you should have been able to tell by that alone! Geez Madara. How did you get by not knowing these things? Tea is _politics_. If you don’t know your tea, you don’t have a full read on things. Clients will take advantage of you!” 

“It didn’t seem that important.” Madara’s voice had dwindled to a mumble. “It’s boiled leaf juice.” 

Hashirama gave an offended scoff. “I swear I’ve heard that somewhere before. I may not have strong feelings about tea either, but to call gyokuro ‘boiled leaf juice’...” He sighed loudly. “My best friend has no class. No wonder Tobirama’s pissed off at you.” 

Tobirama lifted a hand to cover his eyes. That... He should have known. It occurred to him that this was giving him the perfect opportunity to get a little more revenge on Madara, and by the sound of it, Hashirama would even agree with him. So he pushed open the door, ignored Madara’s startle - the man was not subtle - and said, “Anija, I may have a suggestion. Remedial cultural lessons. At Mito’s discretion.” 

Hashirama cheered, over Madara’s outraged sputter, “Perfect! I’m sure she’ll be happy to impart some class on you, Madara. Seriously, what if we sent you to the capital like this without knowing? You’d offend everyone important. Mito can fix that.” He gave a big grin. “You’ll be dreaming about tea for weeks!” 

Madara shrunk in his seat, and something orange moved in his hair. “Am I in hell?” he asked waspishly. “It’s old leaf flavored water. Why is it so important?” 

Hashirama’s grin didn’t fade, in spite of his next words. “Every time you say something so classless, I get this really bitter taste in the back of my mouth. Can’t figure out why.” 

Knowing exactly what his brother was referencing, Tobirama laughed out loud. “The young daimyo is a great man, and is incredible in many ways. But when he was still a banished prince, anija had his tea a few too many times.” 

Hashirama slumped forward in his seat, sudden depression almost palpable in the air around him. “When I go to hell, that’s what I’ll be served. It’s how I know I’m not really a good person. I had a taste of hell while still living, and it tasted like stewed death.” 

“That was a bit dramatic.” Still, the thought of those particular attempts to get on their good side was memorable, at best, though they followed the former shogun’s lead and took it with a grateful smile. (Unfortunately, they couldn’t follow his lead in other areas, for when the prince had turned to look at someone else, the tea was quickly thrown over his shoulder and out the window.) “Still, I admit that it hadn’t been palatable. Anija, I’m sure there was a reason for us both to be here other than reminiscence about really bad tea?” 

Popping back up from his desk like a daisy, Hashirama said, “The memos!” 

“Anija!” he snapped, and relished the way even Madara flinched at the sound of his voice. “Have you been reading my correspondence again? We’ve talked about this!” 

Cowering dramatically behind his hands, Hashirama defended himself with, “But you guys were scaring the go-fers!” 

“They’re couriers, anija, not go-fers.” Tobirama reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“But you call them flunkies,” Hashirama muttered and pouted. “Anyway. I’m _concerned_. It sounds like Madara’s just trying to apologize... for something. You should be nice and accept it.” 

Madara groaned. “I really wish you’d stay out of this Hashirama. I was handling it just fine on my own. I even think I finally got my point across!” 

Tobirama coughed into his fist, and Madara twitched. “You did. And I had just sent off my... reply. Before heading here.” Madara was out the door almost before Tobirama could move out of his way, trailing that orange something. “See, anija,” he said wryly. “We were handling it.” 

“Oh, I guess,” Hashirama sighed. “What happened at that time, anyway? He seemed pretty worried about it. Hey! What, why are you leaving?” 

“It’s none of your business anija. Now, _stop meddling_!” Tobirama paused in the doorway, glaring back. “Madara and I are handling this like civilized people. If you want us to get along, you need to let us handle our differences _our way_.” 

He left Hashirama sulking into his paperwork. As soon as Madara read his response, he would likely come and find him. Then they would talk it out. Like civilized adults. Hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants clarification on characters or terms used, just let me know and I’ll add it to my notes. :D (I can’t think of anything in particular this time that needs it, because most of what you need to know about the newly introduced characters is in text.)


	6. All Those Nerves Amounted to This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s realizing you’ve fucked up, then the genuine horror of realizing just how much. As usual, Tobirama proves he has very few fucks to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama and Madara both were being very difficult in this chapter, but hey! My six chapter guess was accurate, would you look at that!?! On a side note, researching names can be lots of fun, so the daimyo’s close family now has names, though it isn’t exactly important yet.
> 
> Also, if I’ve been slow about replies, I’m sorry. Migraines suck. And if this chapter is in anyway nonsensical, I was trying to edit it with said migraine, plus an unhealthy mix of chemicals in my system.

‘ _We need to talk in private._ ’ 

Madara crumpled the memo in his hands, then hurriedly smoothed it back out. He would have been a fool - more of one, anyway - to not see how Tobirama avoided looking at him in that brief meeting, to not feel how subdued his chakra was. He wondered how much of a fool Hashirama was, because he’d have to kill the dumb bastard if he hadn’t been able to tell. 

Gouawae rustled the hair next to his ear, then grabbed the lobe with a tiny paw. It spoke into his ear quietly enough that someone would have to be standing right next to him in order to hear it. “Gouawae thinks Madara-sama should go. Yako-sama’s not angry.” 

“Yako-sama, is it?” he asked, lips quirking. It was probably Tobirama’s sharp features that prompted the strange assumption. Even he had noted on occasion that Tobirama looked rather foxish, with those sharp features of his. The silvery white hair probably didn’t help. 

The pipe fox merely chirped in reply, then huddled back into his collar, hidden from sight. He knew he shouldn’t take the advice for granted, even if Gouawae seemed unwilling to abandon him and return from whence it came. It was nice, having someone around whose loyalties he didn’t have to question, even if said someone amounted to a hundred grams of fur. 

“I don’t suppose you have any advice on how to go about it, do you?” Madara asked, reaching up and poking at the fox in an attempt to pet. 

It let out a little buzzing hum. “Madara-sama knows what Madara-sama needs to say. Yako-sama’s not angry,” it repeated. “Yako-sama also knows what Madara-sama needs to say.” 

Of course, Tobirama knew what he needed to say. Madara sighed heavily. It would be interesting, he supposed, to be operating under the assumption that Tobirama wasn’t actually angry, no matter what those sharp eyes of his said. 

Gouawae tugged at his earlobe again, lifting its face to speak directly into his ear, tiny muzzle tickling where it touched. “Knows. Not understands. Gouawae knows these are different.” 

“How can he know but not understand?” Madara asked rhetorically, and the fox rippled against his ear in a full bodied shrug. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Since Gouawae is the best and most helpful kanko, Gouawae wants Madara-sama to know that Gouawae thinks Madara-sama should go to the front door _now_. Or Madara-sama will have to search for Yako-sama.” The pipe fox chirped cheerfully, then ducked back down to sit in his collar. “Gouawae is hiding now.” 

“Yeah, you do that,” Madara sighed, crumpling up the memo again. Technically, he was supposed to return to the meeting with Hashirama, but that had obviously been a farce. As much as the big idiot was one of the few people he liked - in his own, dubious way - dealing with him could be a chore. And he could just imagine Hashirama pushing him for an answer about what he had done to offend Tobirama. Even if he could bring himself to speak of it, that was not how he wanted to die. 

He shoved the crumpled paper into a pocket and stalked out of his office, heading for the front of the building. The few people in the hall flinched and ducked away at his scowl, but at least it meant they weren’t _in_ his way. The nervous dread building up in his gut was bad enough without tripping over idiots on his way to deal with _things_. 

Just outside the door, he fell into step with Tobirama, and eyed the man out of the corner of his eye. While the Senju gave no outward sign he had even noticed Madara, his pace adjusted as well, becoming more accomodating. Once they were well away from the administrative building, Tobirama finally spoke. “I’m not going into your house, Madara, and I don’t think we should have this conversation in mine.” 

Madara agreed. His own house was creepy at best, and if he could trust the senses of a pipe fox, _haunted_. If they went to Tobirama’s, however... they would likely both be wrong footed. Neutral territory was best. “And what counts as neutral territory for the likes of us?” he asked, tone flirting with the edge of sarcasm. 

Tobirama didn’t answer verbally, just turned abruptly, shooting for a nearby roof, and didn’t stop or even slow once Madara caught up to him. He had, it seemed, decided on a destination. A destination that Madara wasn’t so sure of once they reached it. 

“The roof of Hashirama’s place? I know the idiot is still in his office, but his _wife_...” 

“Is busy. Mito and Touka have been working with Hikaku on integrating our forces,” Tobirama said, hands flicking imaginary wrinkles from his clothes. “Believe me, she won’t be back until well after anija is done for the day. So we have time, and we have space. There’s even a seal here,” Tobirama activated said seal, by passing his toes over it, “that will help keep our conversation private.” 

“And there’s even a place to sit,” Madara remarked, eyeing the surprisingly comfortable looking set up, and how it was shielded from the elements. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that Hashirama had something like this on his roof, although he had never seen it. 

“If you want,” Tobirama agreed, then squared his shoulders in a way that made Madara realize that _Tobirama_ was nervous too. Possibly more nervous than him. His mouth twisted into a grimace, and his eyes narrowed on Madara. “I know I’m the one who said we needed to talk in private...” 

“No, I agree. Private is. Preferred. I just...” Madara made his own face, and spun away to pace, and worked a hand into his hair to ground himself. “You, you know what I’m trying to say. I was completely out of line. It was inappropriate. I shouldn’t have done it. I can’t...” He huffed, shook his head and paused, trying to bring his thoughts into something approaching order and ended up cursing. “Personal feelings aside. I fucked up. I’m just. Trying to tell you that I...” He trailed off at the sound of Tobirama sighing. 

“Sit down,” Tobirama said, then took Madara by the elbow, walked him over to the covered pile of cushions and shoved him down. He lingered, looming over Madara a moment longer, before moving to sit as well, facing him with a determined frown. “Apology accepted.” 

“What.” There was no way it could be that easy. No way at all. “You just. You aren’t supposed to just. What even?” he ended on a plaintive note. 

“I could have stopped you.” Tobirama’s head tilted consideringly, expression having gone unreadably blank. “I had _options_. Few good ones, but I had them nonetheless. I could have told you off. I even considered stabbing you with my pen, but I decided it wouldn’t be worth the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” Madara asked faintly. The dread, he realized, hadn’t exactly left. What Tobirama was saying was turning it into something approaching _horror_. 

Tobirama shrugged. “You’re rather unstable,” and he forged on when Madara flinched, “so I took the path of least resistance.” Something approaching an actual expression returned to Tobirama’s face. It rather looked like confusion. “Why does it bother you so much? It wasn’t like it was unpleasant. You didn’t harm me.” 

Like that was the only way to identify rape. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You don’t even. How can you not get it? If I. Fuck. What I did. I basically took away your bodily autonomy. That’s not okay. I know that. Do. Do you know that?” 

A consternated blink, and Tobirama’s voice betrayed exasperation. “Madara. You’re hardly one of the worst things that’s happened to me. In fact, you don’t even make the list. You aggravate and annoy, and on occasion you cause me great concern, but that? The other day? That’s not something I would expect you to apologize for.” 

Madara couldn’t even say anything at this point, though his mouth made an automatic attempt. All he could think of was what kind of shitty life did Tobirama live, that _that_ had barely been given a second thought? He _knew_ Tobirama had a loving brother, but now that he thought about it, that was most of what he knew about his personal life. And other than the intelligence his clan had gathered on the Senju, he didn’t know much about his previous missions, either. 

Tobirama gave him an annoyed grimace. “Are you crying?” he asked incredulously. “Seriously? You aren’t going to hug me like anija does, are you? Because I don’t have that kind of patience.” 

“Fuck,” Madara muttered again, scrubbing his sleeve across his eyes. He was pretty sure he wasn’t actually crying, but... his chest ached and he didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he liked the bastard. “Okay, firstly. That was not okay. Period. No arguing. No one should ever do that, okay?” He glared over his wrist until he saw Tobirama give him a baffled nod. “Right. Not to anyone. I shouldn’t have done it. And you shouldn’t just. Accept that it happened. Okay?” 

“You’re an idiot,” Tobirama replied, sighing. “Fine, I’m not accepting that it happened. I’m accepting your apology, because you wouldn’t have tried so hard to apologize if you didn’t mean it. I _am_ allowed to accept that, correct? Wasn’t that the point of this?” 

Madara growled, dropping his hand. “You can’t accept an apology if you don’t fucking believe you’ve been wronged. Don’t be obtuse!” He pulled up one of the cushions he was sitting on and threw it in Tobirama’s face, ignoring when Tobirama casually caught it and tucked it under himself. “If I had done that to anyone you cared for, you’d be angry, wouldn’t you? So show yourself the same fucking consideration!” 

Tobirama leaned toward him and, eyes glittering with what Madara would swear was mischief, he carefully enunciated, “You’re still an idiot. You realize that if you had put in the slightest effort in actually seducing me, you probably would have succeeded?” 

Madara’s mouth went dry as that derailed almost every single thought in his head. He swallowed, and barely managed to say past the lump in his chest, “How much effort are we talking?” 

Somehow, that earned a laugh. It was just a quiet huff of one, but Tobirama’s lips were actually quirked upward in a faint smile, and his already narrow eyes were squinted merrily. “I can give you the words, if you want them,” he said, smile widening into a smirk and voice turning sly and silky. “Repeat after me: Tobirama, would you like to have sex with me?” 

He swallowed again. “Tobirama,” he breathed, and watched the other man lean forward again. “Would you like to have sex with me?” The words were barely out when Tobirama proved just how fast he was, knocking Madara flat on his back, causing him to grunt in surprise, before he could even blink. 

Tobirama straddled Madara’s hips, pressed one hand in the middle of his chest, and he leaned forward, resting his weight on it, until his lips brushed Madara’s ear, just opposite of where the pipe fox was hidden. “I’ll definitely think about it,” Tobirama said, breath hot against his ear. In spite of the position, there was still a hint of laughter in his voice. “You might want to try harder.” 

He bit back a groan, and turned his head slightly, pressing his nose into Tobirama’s hair. An entire day in a cramped office and he still smelled like he did before, with just a faint added mustiness of ink and paper. “What else am I supposed to say?” he asked, both curious as to what Tobirama would tell him, and blanking on what he should say. 

Tobirama’s shoulders shook, and Madara fisted one hand into his shirt. “You could tell me what it was that drew you in before. Flattery often works wonders.” 

There was a strangled sound rising in his throat, because he didn’t think he could articulate what he had been thinking that day. Other than that strip of skin, and how pale and smooth it had looked, and... he had hyper-focused on it. Madara shook his head. “I can’t. I was being stupid, and I. You’re. Damnit.” 

There was a huff of laughter against his ear. “You know, I was mostly teasing, but now I really want to know. I’ll let it go for now, though.” With that, Tobirama pushed back to look Madara in the eye, which... was different. He would swear that Tobirama had met his eyes many times before, and yet... He didn’t think he had ever noticed what looked like striations of lavender in the iris, or that even his pupils looked red. “The question, I believe, is are you interested in casual sex, or are you interested in having some kind of relationship. If it’s the later...” Tobirama sighed. “That would be complicated.” 

Trust Tobirama to use the verbal equivalent of dropping ice down his pants. “Complicated,” Madara said flatly, and Tobirama shrugged. 

“Casual sex wouldn’t be a hardship,” Tobirama replied. “You aren’t unattractive, you know.” He shifted position just enough to lift his other hand and push some of Madara’s hair away from his face. “For a relationship to work out, however... You would need to admit that you aren’t okay, and _seek help_. I can’t fix what’s wrong, and I can’t bear the brunt of it, either.” 

That. Actually made sense. In a weirdly practical sort of way. “And if I can’t trust anyone to help?” he asked, completely serious. 

“Paranoia,” Tobirama murmured, blinking slowly at Madara’s scowl. “I see. That explains some things.” And... He didn’t sound mocking, just thoughtful. “There’s no one you would trust?” 

It was a good question, Madara admitted. He had a list of those he would trust, and even counting the dead, he could count them on one hand. “Of the living?” He sounded like there was gravel in his throat. “Perhaps my mother, but I haven’t seen her in years. Other than that….” Madara scoffed. “I trust you to be _honest_ with me, but that’s all.” 

That earned another blink. “And not anija?” 

“I may like him, but I wouldn’t trust him to be honest,” Madara replied, completely truthful. “He would try to spare my feelings, whereas you have never been anything but blunt with me.” 

This time, Tobirama smirked. “True enough.” Then he tilted his head to the side, and hummed softly. “Would you trust me to help you find the appropriate help?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Tobirama leaned in, eyes no longer narrowed sharply, but the glint of them still barely visible through white eyelashes. When he spoke again, he was so close that Madara could feel the words on his own lips. “Would you allow me to try?” 

Unconsciously, Madara’s tongue flicked out to wet his own lips, and caught on Tobirama’s. Those white eyelashes fluttered, and suddenly it was hard to hear his own thoughts over the thundering of his pulse. “Are you trying to seduce me into it?” 

“Mm, consider it more of a bribe,” Tobirama said, and let their lips drag together teasingly. 

Madara shivered, and his voice was thick in his throat when he said, “That, uh. Probably isn’t the best basis for a relationship.” He was seriously considering it though. Just for something like this, being slotted together like this, the living warmth of another human being straddling his lap and not flinching away from him... The fact that it was Tobirama wasn’t as easy to accept, but the idea of having someone there? He _needed_ that. 

There were teeth in Tobirama’s smile, and they scraped ever so slowly against his lower lip. “If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. We cross that bridge later.” 

Letting out an agonized groan, Madara reached up and dug his fingers into Tobirama’s hair, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Tobirama’s shoulders shook again - the bastard was definitely laughing at him - but he kissed back with equal fervor, mouth tasting of tea and something faintly sweet, when he licked into Madara’s mouth. 

Madara’s fingers twisted more tightly into Tobirama’s hair, and he swallowed down a choked whimper when Tobirama’s thighs clenched around his hips. Tobirama pulled back slightly, fingers catching on the closure of Madara’s indigo robe. He was breathing heavily, but Madara could feel his grin curling up against his mouth. “I’ll leave it to you to tell anija of our arrangement,” he said, cheerfully ignoring Madara’s completely justified outraged squawk. 

Trust Tobirama to _again_ do the verbal equivalent of dumping ice down Madara’s pants. 

* * *

“Yako-sama got Madara-sama good,” said Gouawae, once Madara was finally on his way home. He wanted to bury his face in his hands, and damn anyone looking his way, because he had all but forgotten that the pipe fox was there. He couldn’t even deny what the little fox said. Madara could deny any number of things, but he couldn’t deny that Tobirama had been the one to come out on top of that encounter. 

The very idea of telling Hashirama that there was something going on between them - whatever that something turned out to be - was utterly appalling. Madara was going to get crushed. Either by mokuton vines, or by Hashirama’s manly arms as the idiot tried to welcome him to the family, he didn’t know, but either way, he was going to die. 

There was something to be said for knowing how he was going to die. He might be vague on the specifics, but still. Ugh, why had Tobirama decided to bring the idiot up right then anyway? If there was one thing Madara didn’t want to think of with Tobirama in his lap, it was Hashirama. For oh so many reasons. 

...not that it had derailed them for long. And for all Madara hadn’t gotten off, he’d still ended up having to put his robe back on, and Tobirama kept distracting him, so now nothing was on quite right. It wasn’t visible from the outside, how his undershirt was twisted, or how the ties on his pants hadn’t been done up properly - forcing him to be very careful about how he stepped, lest his pants make a break for his knees. 

“Alright, so he got me,” Madara grumbled, thinking about that funny little grin Tobirama had been sporting. It was the first time he’d seen such an expression on the man’s face, and it made him wonder what else he had been missing. “This is going to end terribly, isn’t it?” The question was half-hearted. Madara wasn’t sure he wanted the pipe fox to reply. 

“Noooooo,” Gouawae said, flopping around against his neck. “Treat Yako-sama right, and Yako-sama will reward Madara-sama.” 

Madara grimaced. Considering Gouawae’s unique assumption about Tobirama, that could mean a lot of things. It could be genuinely prophetic, or it could be similar to the silly superstitions about fox brides. While Tobirama had certainly proven himself to be more playful than Madara had expected - if in a slightly demented sort of way - it didn’t mean anything. “That sounds promising,” he agreed dryly, and lapsed into silence. 

It was really hard to just think, for all he was in a warily good mood. Sex was on his brain, twisting his stomach into exquisite knots. He was, dare he think, feeling _optimistic_ about the future for once. 

Or so he had been thinking. 

Said optimism went crashing to the ground once he arrived home and found Hikaku and several of the Uchiha elders waiting on his doorstep. It didn’t matter how he looked at it, it looked like bad news. The feeling was confirmed when Hikaku stepped forward to greet him with a polite bow. “Madara-sama, I’m afraid we have something of concern to speak of...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yako: Another word for nogitsune, or a field fox. Interesting fact! Japanese mythology doesn’t distinguish between ordinary foxes and foxes with power, because any fox has the chance to become a magical creature. Possibly a specific type of nogitsune, Yako are commonly believed to have black or white fur.  
> Nogitsune are known for causing mischief, and, like pipe foxes, possessing people or pretending to be beautiful young women - as opposed to tenko, who are considered good, or heavenly, foxes and are typically servants of Inari. When a Yako possesses someone, they are Yakotsuki (lit. possessed by a fox, the same as Kitsunetsuki), and the symptoms are similar to when a pipe fox does the same. It is said that anyone meeting a beautiful young woman by twilight might be meeting a fox (though they also often pretend to be wise, elderly men). I like to take that to mean any beautiful person, and old ladies as well. Interesting imagery though, isn’t it? A fox taking human form is supposed to have sharp, narrow features, which are traditionally considered beautiful.
> 
> Madara’s “indigo” robes: Just saw a post recently on Japanese firefighters, and it occurred to me that the Uchiha robes, esp in the Founding Era, are probably made of similar materials. Indigo is apparently highly fire retardant, and since the Uchiha traditionally wear blue... 
> 
> Expect the next fic to start some time this week!


End file.
